


Feeding Time

by CasusFere



Series: Flash Fiction [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, It's Hun-Grr eating nasty things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wreckers try to answer the Ultimate Question: Is there anything that Hun-Grrr won't eat? Flash fiction crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding Time

“Oh, that’s just gross.” 

“Is he still eating it? He’s still eating it!”

“Try this next-”

_Crunch._

“What the frag is going on in here?” 

The group of mechs gathered around the brig cell door jumped, looking up at Springer guiltily.

“Uh- nothing!” Scoop tried - and failed - to look innocent, hastily shoving something behind his back.

“We’re just feeding the prisoner,” Sandstorm put in, much smoother.

“How many mechs does it require to hand over a cube of energon?” Springer asked, planting his hands on his hips.

“It’s a dangerous Decepticon leader?” Scoop offered weakly.

Sandstorm nodded. “It’s protocol.” Whirl said nothing, folding his arms and leaning nonchalantly against the back wall. 

“Since when have you been concerned with protocol?” Springer asked, not buying it. “And-”

_Crunch._

Springer glanced over at the prisoner, then did a double-take, optics widening. “And _what_ is he _eating?!”_

“Remember that old converter that broke like a year ago, that we’ve been meaning to haul out for recycling?” Scoop made a gesture with his free hand towards the figure hunched over the last mangled remains of the converter. “Yeah.”

“Consider it recycled,” Whirl said dryly.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s exactly what’s meant by our having to feed any prisoners.” Springer couldn’t tear his optics away from the scene in the cell. “I’m pretty sure that’s why they’re issued an energon ration-”

“He drank it,” Sandstorm informed him matter-of-factly. “And then he ate the container.”

_Crunch crunch._ Hun-Grrr looked boredly back at Springer with one head, the other buried snout-first in the converter.

“Scoop,” Springer started, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

Scoop shifted his weight, and slowly brought the canister out, not meeting Springer’s gaze. 

Springer sighed. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“That depends on what you think it is,” Scoop said, giving him a hopeful smile. 

“The leftover organic samples from Perceptor’s studies,” Springer growled.

There was a moment of awkward silence, broken by the screech of rending metal as Hun-Grrr seized a side of the converter in each mouth and ripped it two.

“Out,” Springer snapped, taking the canister from Scoop and pointing toward the door.

The three Wreckers trooped out, heads down. 

Hun-Grrr watched them go, swallowing the last of the scrap. Both heads turned to regard Springer, looking pointedly from the triplechanger to the canister in his hand. “Gonna stick that in here or not?”

Springer looked down at the canister, repulsed. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” Hun-Grrr demanded defensively. “I’m hungry!”

Springer slowly extended the bio-hazard canister, his expression a mix of disgust and morbid fascination. 

_Crunch._

“He likes it!” Scoop crowed from where he’d been peeking in the doorway.

The distraction is enough to break the trance and finally let Springer to look away from the horror inside the cell. He stalked towards the door. “Out!”

Scoop disappeared from the doorway and fled, his commander right on his tail.

Left alone in the brig, Hun-Grrr shrugged to himself and sat down to chew contentedly on the canister.


End file.
